


Watch

by spun809



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Basically super depressing stuff, Gen, Suicide, don't want to tag too much, fair warning it is bleak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 13:31:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10309175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spun809/pseuds/spun809
Summary: The boys are reacting to some terrible news, it is heartbreaking and all you can do is watch.





	

So you watched,

You watched Dean as he threw himself into the job. There were times when he would sit hunched over some old tome and drink until he passed out, leaving a sticky trail of drool to seep into the ancient pages, until he jerked awake panting into the dark with the ink smudging his pale cheek. Sometimes you watched the way he fought, loose and sloppy, punches were ill timed and shots that were less than accurate and even his footsteps seemed louder. 

Sam used to fight with him about the changes he saw, at first it was only one sided, he would beg his brother to talk about it and even though the vein in the side of his neck bulged he wouldn’t give in to his brothers anger. He was always met with resistance, from the firm and absolute no to the thinly veiled attempts to change the subject. Occasionally punches would be thrown, but then after a while he stopped fighting. It was too much and Dean refused to change and Sam couldn’t take the constant pleading and the smell of booze, and the amount of times he had to set a bone or give him stitches was too much, he wouldn’t lose his family anymore. 

Sam grabbed the journal that had set so much in motion of out his bag, “you should keep it,” and placed it next to where Dean was currently slumped over. 

A hand snaked out and caught his wrist as he trudged over to the door, “whatcha doing Sammy?” 

“I told you I am not going to sit here another night and watch you drink yourself into a coma,” and then he was just gone. 

You watched,

Sammy would cry, flat out sobbing, his chest would hitch and his eyes would be red rimmed. He had always bordered on somber, it was a contrast to Dean’s easy humor but now he was maudlin. Hours would pass with no motion, it even seemed like he blinked less, then there would be a flurry of energy where he would pull open books or sit in front of his laptop until he was wracking his hands through his hair so much it would be limp and shiny from the sweat of his palms. If he ever got interrupted in the process things would rapidly deteriorate. 

“I came to bring you sustenance,” the angel said holding the bags of burgers, Sam had gone off health food a while ago, and at silence started to shift things on the crowded table top to make room. 

It would have been hard to believe there were two people in the room up to that point, then as Sam slid back his chair and it thudded against the thin carpet, the yelling suddenly brought the pieces of the scene together. 

He shoved the food to the ground and fries scattered everywhere, “Cas can’t you see I am trying to find something, anything that can help us? I,” he kicked the cheap hotel table making various papers fall to the heap of things collecting on the ground, “can’t keep doing this on my own.” 

“I told you there isn’t anything we can do.” 

“I’ll find a way.” 

Absorbed in the search, even when it was obvious it was hopeless, it seemed that it filled every moment of his time. He wasn’t away from Dean often, but on the few occasions he was alone in the dingy motel room, before he gave up completely, he would run his hands along the edge of the one bed that wasn’t ever touched. 

Watching.

Angels, you were too used to them for there to be many mysteries left in how they dealt with human affairs. Cas was only an intermittent appearance at any given time. He was a supporting actor in a tragedy where the heroes always took center stage, but he was different too, in the way that his trenchcoat was littered with strange smudges and stains. Sometimes he would come in, sit down with Dean and when he casually grabbed a book or changed the channel on the fuzzy t.v. there would be a small oozing scrape or the type of bruise which would have been purple and blue but had gradually tinged out to a strange faded yellow. 

Sometimes he was acknowledged, other times like this it was like they were oblivious to his presence. 

“I can’t hear anything, I’m sorry,” he looked dejected, “I just want to help.” 

As Dean wove around the various items the brothers had thrown haphazardly around the small room, he paused after the confession, eyes snapping on the rumpled warrior of heaven, “why do you even have wings Cas? What good are you?” 

Maybe it was the stillness in the room, but the snap of his heart was audible in the space, all of his worst fears confirmed in the span of a sentence. He didn’t vanish, instead there was so slow crawl of his steps towards the exit, dragging his feet like his limbs were suddenly so leaden he couldn’t just walk out. 

Watch. 

There was the sound of metal on metal a thin squeal and then the shattering of glass. It was so loud it came through the walls in a steady echo. As he threw open the door, shards of glass sparkled briefly in the sunlight before it abruptly was cut off he fully entered the room. Sweat clung to his face, and made his white t-shirt cling to his chest which heaved from exertion. 

“Why?” He wasn’t talking to anyone in particular it was spoken into the silence. 

Fumbling a little he sat on the edge of the bed, then tried briefly to toe off is boots, he panted a little and flopped backwards. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling it seemed he was trying to gaze straight through into the sky, or maybe beyond it. 

Closing his eyes he began again, “why did you take her? Didn’t we give you enough already,” his voice was tightening, “I have sacrificed everything, so just do this for me, give her back.” 

There was a heavy crease on his forehead as he squinted. Trying desperately to forecast his thoughts into another plane of existence. 

All the days you had spent fighting, battling things that no one even believed existed, but in the end it was something so simple. 

It was raining so hard, the downpour had clouded the windshield and even as the wipers fought back and forth to clear it more poured down. You were only a few dozen miles away from the bunker and had only had a drink or two at the local bar, the road was familiar. 

“Shi..” You weren’t ever able to finish. 

The car jerked, maybe you hit a pothole or a downed branch, maybe it was just water built into the ruts of the backwoods road. It felt for a second like you were floating as the car flew into the air, and then splitting pain blossomed from your skull and then pitch blackness consumed you. 

The minute you came back, to that room, to his bed, you knew it wasn’t real. You weren’t really there at all to them. It was like you were blurred around the edges and part of you wanted to leave when Billie came to you, but you saw Dean. Dean with his light green eyes glistening with tears and you couldn’t. He held hopelessly to the little deer charm you had given him on your first hunt together. 

It was a buck, silver and the antlers protruded from its skull twisting together over its passive face. You felt peaceful every time you felt the prick of the metal against your palm but you thought Dean could use it. A casual gift, but from that moment on, you saw him with it stuffed into a pocket or rubbing it between his fingers a tiny smile on his face. 

Now he clutched it, and when he opened his hand you could see little punctures which dripped bright crimson. He needed you. 

So you watched.


End file.
